Beauty and the Beast
by Shaddic
Summary: The Joker has finally done it. He has killed Harley Quinn. Has he made the right decision or a horrible mistake? Joker/Harley Nolanverse.One-shot


The Joker wearily climbed the steps to the apartment they had been living in for the past two weeks. As he opened the door, he heard Harley squeal in delight at his return. He groaned inwardly and set off towards his study. As he passed, he saw some of his henchmen playing poker in the living room. They had grown very quiet at his return, hardly daring even to whisper in his presence.

"Hiya Puddin'!" said Harley as she threw her arms around his neck. "How was ya day?"

He ignored her and continued to his study.

"Aw come on Puddin', you must be so tired. Why don't we just go to bed?"

The truth was, he was exhausted. He hadn't slept the night before, and he had narrowly escaped being captured and sent back to Arkham by Batman. Even so, he needed to work on his latest plot, and he wasn't going to let sleep get in his way.

"You know, your Harley could use some fine tuning," she said with a naughty smile.

He turned on her, staring her down. She flinched slightly, but she didn't take her eyes from his. He continued to glare at her a few moments longer, then he turned and went into his study and slammed the door. He listened for her footsteps. She waited a minute or two, as if hoping he might change his mind. When he didn't, she walked away.

The Joker sat down at his desk and ran a hand through his green hair. How had he put up with her for so long? It had been seven months since they had first met, seven months since he had transformed her into Harley Quinn. Seven too many, in his opinion.

Why had he kept her around so long? When she had first broken him out of Arkham, he had planned to kill her right away. But he hadn't, and he wasn't sure why, exactly. He never did anything without considering the consequences. Every move he made, every crime he committed, was planned out. Even the seemingly random murdering of his henchmen had been planned from the moment he hired them. But with Harley, well, he couldn't come up with a good answer, only excuses.

She had proven herself to be a useful henchwench, and she had helped him on several occasions. But that was where her usefulness ended. He didn't need her. She was a third wheel, an annoyance. Whenever she was around she would hang all over him and talk about whatever topic happened to be buzzing around in her fragile little mind. She was like a lovesick schoolgirl, a crazed fangirl. And he had had enough.

He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a revolver. He slipped in two bullets. One carefully aimed bullet would get the job done, but he put in the other one in just in case the first failed. She'd been his most loyal and dedicated servant, and he would reward her with a quick and painless death.

He exited his study and made his way to the room they shared. He put his ear to the door and, hearing nothing, he slipped in quietly. He found her already asleep on top of the blanket. No doubt she had meant to stay up until he came to bed, but sleep had taken her anyway. She was still dressed in her harlequin costume. He sat down on the bed, watching her.

How many times had he watched her sleep? It always fascinated him to watch her in her most vulnerable state. For hours, sometimes even the entire night, he would just watch her, as though she were the most interesting thing on the planet.

He cocked the gun and put it to her temple. Her eyes fluttered open. "Mistah J?" she said sleepily.

He didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger, but it didn't kill her immediately like he had planned.

"I don't understand…" she whispered as a single tear rolled down her cheek and blood poured down her face.

As he prepared to fire the second shot, she went perfectly still. He pressed his head to her chest and listened for her heartbeat. Silence.

The Joker watched her lifeless body as he considered what he had done and what it meant for him now. He had finally killed Harley. He was a free man now. No longer would he have to put up with her and her antics. No longer would he be burdened with the crazy girl. No longer would he have to pretend to love her.

The Joker rose from the bed and went to the bathroom where he got a wet rag. He removed her hat and gently, as though she were made of glass, he began to wash away the blood and makeup from her face. He liked her costume, but she was prettier without all the makeup. As he did so, he couldn't help but marvel at how truly beautiful she was, even in death. Her porcelain face, her baby-blue eyes. She was almost perfect. The scars he had given her were her only imperfections. The scars marked her as his and his alone.

After her face was clean, he picked her up and carried her downstairs to the basement. While he had at first considered dumping her body out the window as he usually did when he killed the hired hands, he decided that Harley deserved something more. So he carried her down to the furnace.

Before he put her in, the Joker looked into her glassy blue eyes. "I'll never understand you, Harley girl. I would say that I'm going to miss you, that my heart died with you, but I don't want there to be any lies between us." He paused, then continued." You can't imagine how it feels to finally be rid of you. You were a good little helper, but you just got in my way. You were a fool for staying with me. If I had known you would latch onto me like you did, I would have chosen another doctor. Even so, I have to admit there were times when I thought about keeping you. Annoying as you were, there were times when you made me smile, when you were the only one encouraging me to keep going. You were one of a kind."

He closed her eyes and put his lips on hers one last time. For once she didn't kiss him back. He pulled away and opened the furnace, then proceeded to push her body inside the roaring flames. As he closed the hatch, he felt something stir within him. Memories of a different time came to the surface, though he couldn't make them out. It was like trying to see underwater. Despite being unable to decipher them, he knew they were painful memories that had been locked away for a reason.

As he climbed the stairs back up to his room, he felt a dull ache grow in his chest. He felt like a great weight had been placed on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He dismissed these feelings, but he could not make them go away completely. Why did he feel this way? Never before had a killing made him feel like this. He turned to look at the furnace where Harley's flesh and bones were slowing becoming nothing but ash. He felt like someone had cut off a piece of him and tossed it into the flames to burn with her. He shook his head to dispel the feelings he was experiencing. What was wrong with him? What did he care if she was dead? It was a great relief to be rid of her at last. He had waited so long for this, and it had brought him joy and... anguish? Relief and… sorrow? No. He was being ridiculous. He did not love Harley. Harley was nothing to him but a waste of space. He had taught her so much, and yet it had been all for nothing. He had wasted so much time on her. He would never let it happen again.

"No more henchwenches," he growled to himself. "They're more trouble than they're worth."

He opened the door to his apartment, and immediately noticed how empty it now seemed. Without Harley it was just another temporary hideout.

"Hey boss," said one of his men tentatively. "Now that Harley's gone, will you be replacing her? My sister-"

The Joker shot him in the neck with the extra bullet before he could get out another word. He collapsed to the ground, choking on his own blood. It was the closest any of his henches would ever come to a "quick and painless death".

Instead of going back to his study like he had planned, he went straight to bed. He laid down on the bed, not bothering to change or wash off the makeup. The pain in his chest throbbed with the beat of his heart and he could not understand why. Harley had been just another girl. Nothing special about her.

No, he was lying to himself. She had been anything but ordinary. She had always reminded him of the story of Beauty and the Beast. She had been so beautiful, and yet she had fallen for him, a monster. He had believed this to only be possible in fairy-tales. There was no way Harley could truly love him. No way she could look past his scars and see a man underneath. But she had. She had been the one who had made him laugh, who had kept him warm at night, who had never let him give up no matter how many times Bats locked him up, who never left him even when things got hard, even when he hurt her with his words and his fists. Most people couldn't stand the sight of him, but she had somehow loved him despite the scars. She was an angel. No, she was his angel. But not anymore. She was gone, and he was alone.

Something caught his eye. One of the bells on her hat was reflecting the light of the moon. He had forgotten it. He hadn't meant to leave the hat behind, he planned to destroy anything and everything that even remotely reminded him of her. Which was why he planned to blow up the apartment the next day.

He reached down and picked up the hat. It was still warm. Somehow, holding her hat seemed to ease the strange pain in his chest. He clutched it close to his heart. As he held the hat close, he began to wonder if he had made a mistake. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't, and though his brain agreed, the rest of him seemed to disagree. He could not understand the emotions he was feeling and hated them more than he had ever hated anything. This was why he had killed her, so she could no longer infect him with her love. There had been times when she would gaze into his eyes with a love so deep and passionate he would have to hit her so he could escape. He hated her for loving him so. She thought it was because she had done something wrong, when all she had done was love him in such a way that the Joker's mind could not fathom it. There had been times when he had hit her, only to see her tears and regret his actions. Was it because he cared about her? Because he loved her? No. The Joker did not love, and he would not allow him to even think about such things.

Love was for fools. So many people chased after love and for what? A broken heart. He did not want to feel those emotions, not because he feared he would be rejected, but because such feelings would reduce him to a mere mortal. Love made a person weak, vulnerable. How many times had he used love of to manipulate and torture his victims? All he had to do was threaten the ones they loved most and they were completely at his mercy. He would never give anyone the power to bring him down in such a way, yet Harley had been able to do it anyway, even in death. Had he made a mistake? He couldn't be sure. All he knew was that whatever he was feeling now, it would fade in time. He would make sure of it. Never again would he allow anyone to become as close to him as Harley had been. Which really wouldn't be much of a challenge. There were plenty of women out there he could use, but none would love him the way Harley had.

The Joker rose from the bed. As tired as he was, he could not sleep in that bed. He needed to rid himself of everything that reminded him of her. He collected his notes and anything else he didn't want destroyed and left the building. He did not bother telling his men that he would be blowing up the building that night. Henchmen were very easy to replace.

The Joker walked outside and pulled out the detonator. He pushed the button, destroying the building and all inside.

"You were a fool, Harley baby," said the Joker. That ache in his chest was still there, but he tucked it away where it could not torment him. "But what I wonder is, who was the bigger fool. You, my little harlequin, or me?"

As he turned to leave, he realized that he was still holding Harley's hat. For a moment, he considered throwing it back inside, but decided against it. He tucked it into one of his pockets and whispered the four little words he had never been able to say to her while she was alive. Four little words that he had sworn he would never use together in a sentence. Four little words that held the power to destroy him. Four little words that he was unable to stop himself from saying.

"I love you, Harley."


End file.
